


Nothing left to lose

by littlebirdtoldme



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: F/M, Minor Character Death, We'll go with that, do they count as minor?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 06:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2218530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlebirdtoldme/pseuds/littlebirdtoldme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a prompt from overzelos. Peter and Eva start to drift apart after the war, and realise that things can't always go back to how they used to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing left to lose

Peter leant against the frame of the door, arms folded and brow furrowed in concern as he looked in on the woman who once hosted a powerful alien. His wife. Host to Visser One. He sighed and closed his eyes briefly at the memory of losing her, recalling how he had drifted aimlessly through his life for some time, with only Marco to ground him and keep him sane. Now, he realised he couldn't even protect Marco: his son had grown up far sooner than he should have, forced by the world to act the adult as he fought in the war. They hadn't heard from Marco in some time now. Not that this was unusual, he had become a very independent young man, but Peter still wished his son would call home now and then.

He blinked his eyes open, and gave a sad half smile as he saw what Eva was doing. Writing. Again. He walked up behind where she was seated and placed a hand on her shoulder. 

"You should come to bed, Eva," he said gently. "It's getting late."

"No, it's fine. I'm fine. I can't, I need to get this down," she replied dismissively, her pen still scribbling in the large pad of paper she had bought precisely for this purpose.

"You need to sleep. You can't stay awake forever, love." He felt her stiffen at the endearment, and sighed.

"Eva... We've been over this. I thought you were dead. We thought you were dead. That was the Visser's aim and they... They succeeded. I thought it was time to move on. Had I known you were alive, I never..." he trailed off. This discussion came up time and time again. Eva said that she didn't mind him having married Nora, especially given how it ended, but her actions seemed at odds with her words. Any mention of the woman and she closed off, more so than almost any other aspect of the war.

Eva stopped writing, paused entirely. She then set her pen down and turned to Peter.

"I know, Peter," she said sadly. Peter wanted so badly to look away from the pain in her eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to break eye contact. "What I don't know is what to do now."

Peter's heart plummeted. "What do you mean?"

"I mean... This war, it's changed things. It's changed me. I have all these memories of things I've done, and now that the war is over... I just don't know what I'm supposed to do with them. While you,” Her eyes turned dark, her lips pursed.. “You got married.”

Peter’s mouth dropped open. “I… Eva, you can’t hold that against me… How was I to know… That you were alive… Besides, you know it’s been annulled now, now we have you back… I don’t…!”

“Do you mean to tell me that in all that time before I ‘died’, while Edriss was in my head, you had no idea that anything was wrong?” She laughed harshly. “Oh, it’s annulled. Of course. My bad. That erases the entire history of the incident, doesn’t it? Makes it all perfect again.”

Peter stared. Wordless.

“Precisely,” Eva muttered. She span her chair, her slender back facing her husband. Peter took a breath as if to reply. But, truly, what could be said? He turned, and left.

A near full week of over-polite silence passed. No animosity between the pair: things had not deteriorated that much. Yet Peter felt as though he was sharing the house with a stranger, which in some way, he supposed he was.

As usual, Eva was already sitting at the table, eating breakfast, when he ventured sleepily downstairs. She always seemed to be up before him, every day. No exceptions.

He walked up behind her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Morning,” he uttered, trying desperately not to yawn. “You’re always up so early, what’s with that?” A small smile stretched his lips. Perhaps things weren’t as broken as they seemed… maybe they could still…

“I don’t sleep.” Eva replied quietly. “I come down here once you’re asleep so I don’t wake you. Good to know it’s working.”

She spoke with a hint of bitterness in her voice, and Peter cursed himself silently. How could he not have noticed this, month after month of her leaving the bed? He was clearly a deeper sleeper than he had realised.

Peter knelt down in front of Eva, carefully studying her face. She looked so different… Like a different woman. Her appearance was the same, but beyond that. Behind her eyes… Peter knew that his wife had seen things that made his part in the war look like children play fighting. Her hands were clasped nervously, fiddling in her lap. He placed on hand on hers, stilling her frantic fingers, while his other hand found rest on her cheek.

“Eva… I’m sorry. I haven’t been there for you like I should be. I’ve not been the husband I promised to be all those years ago…”

He trailed off as her head lifted, meeting his eyes. There was something close to disgust swirling within them. She stared at him for a moment.

“Really, Peter?” she sighed, and looked away again, shrugging off his hands. “Even now. It’s still about you. About what you didn’t do, what you did wrong. Boo-hoo, get the hell over yourself!”

“I don’t think -?”

“ _Exactly_ , Peter. That is exactly your problem. You. Don’t. Think.” She jabbed a finger into his chest: he barely felt it. He was shocked. She didn’t stop there: now that she had started, everything she had been itching to say was bubbling over her façade.

 

"How dare you?!" she exclaimed, rising from her seat. He lifted his hand between her, indicative of peace and defense.

“Eva, please! We can talk about this! Talk it through with me, please, don’t just scribble it all down in that book of yours. I can help you let go of it, let me in!” He took her hands again, hers cupped within his – the way he had so often held her in the past, so often while she carried Marco – but she pulled them away and left them hanging, stiffly, by her sides.

"For years I was a slave, with my body being the master. I was trapped in the prison of my mind, helpless and unable to scream or cry out to try to prevent the terrible, terrible things I saw. I saw things I can never, _ever_ forget. I watched the Visser try to kill our son! I cannot simply let things go. I can't live like that. The war, it took so much from me, Peter. I don't expect you ever to understand."

Eva pushed past him, running to the other side of the house, tears pooling in her eyes. She locked herself in the bathroom and leant onto the sink. Raising her head, she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were old. So old. How had this happened? She ignored the pounding and shouting from Peter on the door, and sank to the floor, leaning back against the wall. She pulled her knees in, forehead pressed into her thighs as the tears overflowed onto her cheeks, tracing a path down her cheek.

Soon, the shouting and banging evolved into gentle tones and knocking, but still Eva ignored it. She stayed as she was, consumed by the memories of the past few years, all she had been forced to do...  
Some time later – was it hours? Longer? She had no idea – Eva was woken sharply by more knocking.

“Honey, let me in, please. C’mon… Open up.”

Bleary eyed and reluctant, Eva reached up to unlock the door. As soon as the lock clicked, Peter pushed gently into the room. He glanced down at his wife, and sighed sadly.

“Look… I was thinking. Let’s start over.” At Eva’s quizzical glance, he continued. “I mean… Go on dates. Get to know each other again. Start afresh. What do you say?” He held a hand out to her, hoping, willing her to take it.

Eva hesitated. Then placed her slender hand into Peter’s larger one. _What more do I have to lose?_ She reasoned.

She used his strength to pull herself up, and stood back. Not too close to him. Not yet. Not now.

“When?” she asked, by way of agreement.

Peter smiled broadly, and his eyes lit up. This was exactly what he had been hoping for!

“Why not now?” He said eagerly pulling Eva out of the room towards the front of the house. “C’mon. Let’s just go.”

Eva couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, okay, fine… Let me get my coat…”

A few moments later, they stumbled out the door, laughing. Eva couldn’t quite believe it: there was still some trepidation, some mistrust, weighing down her heart. But Peter was trying again – actually genuinely trying to engage her, rather than following her around like a rather useless shadow.

Peter tugged on her hands, but his grip slipped. His mouth forming a wide “O”, he tumbled back into the road, both laughing at his clumsiness. Eva stepped forward to help him up, but as she did so, she heard a noise, glanced to the side, and screamed.

Peter simply wasn’t fast enough. The truck driver was _too_ fast.

 _What more do I have to lose?_ Eva had asked herself.

The answer then? Everything.

The answer now?

Nothing.


End file.
